The Biography of January Jansen
by girlwiththoughts
Summary: The course of true love never did run smooth. This was January and Peter's. "In her mind, she called him Pretty Peter Plaything." Companion fic to 'The Man with Few Words'.
1. Pretty Peter Plaything

**The Biography of January Jansen**

"_I pull you from your tower, take away your pain. Show you all the beauty you possess, if you only let yourself believe." –Sarah McLachlan_

* * *

_Chapter One_

Where does it come from?

Love.

Are we all born with the capacity to love? Is love a choice? Does anyone really willingly fall in love? Or is it like an earthquake; unexpected and ruthless? We all search for answers in this world. Answers to our hopes and dreams and souls.

But...why are we here? What is the soul? Why do we dream?

We are born alone. We walk down the path of life alone. And in the end, we die alone. We do not take anything with us when we die. Not money, or family, or even love. We spend our entire lives looking for love. Looking for someone to spend a lifetime with us. We seek to be complete. To be—perfect and whole.

But that's not human nature.

On the sixth day, God created Man in His own image. And we are told we are all children of God. And that God loves every one of us, like there's only one of us.

But we are left to wonder for ourselves: Is God lonely? For if we are, His loneliness must be amplified a thousand times over.

* * *

"Jan, he's not a toy."

Jude Jansen has always believed that it were the things you didn't choose that make you who you are. It wasn't the decisions, or the judgements. Perhaps those shape you and mold you; but they don't define you. It was the things you couldn't change. The things given to you from the very start. Things like...your city, your neighborhood, and your parents. But for Jude Jansen, it has always been his sister—his twin, who acquired the instinct to leap without looking, and forevermore made him who he is.

January Jansen smiles with glee she doesn't think she can hide, "He could be." She whispers demurely.

Carefully, as not to disturb the sleeping boy on the couch, she hooks that stubborn lock of his that's always falling into his eyes around her finger and tucks it neatly behind his ear. It stays there in place only for a few seconds, before coming loose and flopping back into place.

She giggled.

She leans up real close, pushing her long hair over her shoulder, then shyly reached out. She runs a finger down the straight, noble line of his nose. She tries to contain her beam, biting hard on her lower lip, as his mouth curved dreamily.

Oh, he was perfect.

"Jan..." Jude starts. He's wounded his fingers around the top of her arm and gave a light tug. January fell back with a little gasp, but then her expression soured, and she hurriedly swatted his hand away. "C'mon, Twin. The man's tired. He deserves a nap without you hovering over him like some goddamn satellite."

He's so pretty, though.

Jude yanks again and she slaps his wrist, eliciting a sharp yelp. January tries to muffle the sound by jamming her palm up against his mouth but it was too late. The boy stirred from his position on the couch, his graceful brows crinkled and his lashes fluttered. Then those familiar droopy eyes opened, and January smiled.

In her mind, she called him Pretty Peter Plaything. And how very pretty he was. His deep brown irises always peered at her with so much bewilderment and suspicion. As if she had some sort of ulterior motive. Like he thinks she's tricking him with her grins and flirts.

"Hey there, sleeping beauty." She greets quietly. January makes no attempt to hide the face-splitting smile pulling at her lips. Tilting her head, she concentrated on tracing the contours of his sharp cheekbones. His eyes are still hazy with sleep, which he tries to blink away. He would squeeze them shut then force them wide open. There are flecks of green in his chocolate gaze.

_Pretty Peter Plaything._

January Jansen is 8 years-old again. She's standing in the Carolina State Fair and hiding behind Jude's coat as he slithered his way through the crowd like a slippery eel, all focus directed towards the _Tilt-a-Whirl_. And that's when she saw it. In one of the game trailers. A soft, bright teddy bear dangling delicately amidst the lights. She doesn't care for the tiger that roared or the huge pink bunny for the 1st prize winners. _No sir, she doesn't_! But she can imagine the bear in her hands; velveteen and ragged. So she tugs on Jude's sleeve and points to it.

She wants it.

Wants it, wants it, wants it.

Her laugh might've sounded a little too breathless when he murmured dazedly, his musical voice muted, "Jan?" And she might've nodded a little too eagerly as his mouth fell into an endearing, lopsided grin. And she might've been a little too impulsive, tracing the outline of his bottom lip with her thumb, but she didn't care.

No, she didn't.

Not even when Jude cleared his throat and Pretty Peter Plaything sprang up like some Jack-in-a-Box. She merely plops down on the couch and shamelessly presses their sides together. He's warm. And January beams.

She knew she would be in big trouble if daddy saw. He would lecture her on chivalry and how to be a lady and blah blah blah. _Don't go down that road, honey. We both know how this is going to end. _Daddy would say. Then he'd list names: _Remember Drew? And that nice boy Johnny? And what about Nate from the football team?_

She'd sigh and roll her eyes. She doesn't want to listen because she _knows_ he's special. And daddy's just too blind to see it. Daddy doesn't flat-out tell her 'no' because he knows what will happen if he does.

The little girl at the Carolina State Fair pitching a fit until she gets that damn bear.

_Yes. Yes, daddy. I remember. But Peter is different! Oh please, daddy, oh please. He's the one, daddy. He's the one for me. _She would promise daddy all the things in the world. That she'll love him _forever_. That this is the only boy for her! And that why wouldn't daddy believe her? Oh, she won't have her heart broken.

But daddy wouldn't have it. _You're a dog chasing cars, Jan. You wouldn't know what to do with one if you caught it. _

She tries to reason with him, of course. O_h, daddy. It's always been him. Ever since grade school. Daddy, please._ Those other names didn't matter to her. Drew and nice Johnny and Nate from the football team. All she wanted was Peter. Pretty Peter with his floppy hair and crooked smile.

And she gets angry.

January Jansen tells daddy that she_ won't _take her hands off Peter. She won't stop making him dizzy with her 'pretty smiles' and 'empty words'. She won't, she won't! She will do whatever she pleases with him and that is that.

"How long was I asleep?" His voice is always so smooth, with just an undertone of a rasp. He always sounds so flushed and breathless. So very, very boyish.

She loved it.

She beams and scoots closer. Her fingers climb their way up his arm and onto the nape of his neck, playing with the dark curled strands there. He's wearing this thin white t-shirt, and he looked so messily delicious in it. She liked him better when he's being messy and tousled, because when he's all proper, he's always saying crap like 'Pardon me' and 'I apologize' and he'd duck and shuffle around her as if she were the plague.

"Just an hour or two." Jude is channel-surfing. "I told the elf not to bother you," He tosses a pointed look at January. He doesn't continue his disjointed sentence, "Sorry for waking you, man." He stops on the news network. And then they start talking about baseball.

She plays with his ear.

_So pretty_, she thinks. _When was the last time Jude brought home someone so pretty?_

Twin is distracting Pretty Peter Plaything, filling the gap between them with batting averages and injured pitchers and homeruns. She rests her chin lazily on his shoulder and traces the soft shell of his ear. His disheveled locks are all tangled and so she weaves her fingers through them. And she gives into an effortless smile.

He reaches for his glass of water, extending his arm like extending his will, but he's too tired to incline forward for it. She takes this opportunity to press his palm to hers, like they're comparing hands, then lacing their fingers together into a lock.

He doesn't object. He just gives her an all too-familiar look; his brows crease and his puppy eyes are narrowing with caution. It's so cute how doubtful he is. How he scowls slightly at her smiles, how he shifts with unease when he realizes that she's not going to stop touching him—oh no, she didn't think she was capable of keeping her hands off him.

January laughed. Her Pretty Peter Plaything is always so full of suspicion. Like he wants to accept all her grins and touches, but was much too afraid to—as if she would bite him or something. His chestnut brown gaze, endearing and terribly helpless, peer up at her, through layers of lashes, making her stomach flip-flop.

"I heard that we're getting new batting cages." Twin is still prattling on, his buttery blonde hair hung in a disorganized mess atop his forehead. She knew automatically that he's been skipping his monthly trims with mama. "Isn't that great? I mean, finally! How long have we been waiting for those?" He shakes his head, trying to jerk the vision-disturbing strands out of his charcoal eyes.

Peter chuckles. His smile, deliciously crooked. "Forever." He agrees.

She liked the way it sounded. The way it slipped out of his mouth like a sigh, and lingered in the air like a promise. She liked how it sent butterflies palpitating through her chest and how he snuck a shy glance at her that he thought she couldn't catch as he said it.

Peter stands up, saying that he promised his mother he would be home for dinner. Jude waves a lazy good-bye from the couch but she jumps up as well, playing the courteous host and follows him to the door. She watches as he slides on his messenger bag and readjusts the straps, pushing his bangs behind his ear. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

She clears her throat and decides to take the initiative when he wouldn't, "Are you coming to the game on Friday?"

He blinks, and offers January a nervous, but warm smile, "Yeah. Wouldn't miss it for the world." He rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably, inquiring quietly in his soft husk, "You'll be cheering, won't you?" His grin grows wider, "Number 13, right?"

She beams, satisfied that he had remembered. She tries to ignore the loud, steady thud of her heart pounding against her throat. She nods, "That's right."

They stand there in silence for a few moments. Then Pretty Peter pulled something out from his pockets. A little wooden box she recognized from a neat boutique. She cradles it in her hand and stares at him, bewildered, with her blood thundering in her ear.

He tries to shrug nonchalantly, but his pale skin is stained red. He fidgets with the hem of his t-shirt, "It's for you. I—just...you know, saw it and thought you'd like it." He murmurs, flustered and hesitant. She pops the lid open carefully, and smiles. He stutters his way for an explanation, "They're ribbons. For your hair."

She almost squeals. _Oh, Pretty Peter. Oh, you shouldn't have, _she wanted to tell him. Her heart's hammering and it's all because of him. She throws her arms around him and presses her face to his the crook of his neck. He smelled mouthwatering—like pine trees and the grass field. He tenses after a few seconds and hurries to untangle their limbs. Then he wishes her good-luck before promptly fleeing out the front door.

January Jansen is 8 years-old again, stomping her feet for that velveteen teddy bear. And she knows, that when she gets it, she'll feel like the most special little girl in the whole wide world.

Pretty Peter Plaything with the softest fur she's ever touched.

* * *

"Jan." There's a hiss to her left. Huh? Was she being called on? What class was she in? What was the answer? False? "Jansen!"

January snaps out of her daydreams. Which is really a shame, because Pre-Calc and Mrs. Johnston really does nothing to hold her attention. She blinks rapidly to clear the foggy images in her head before turning in the direction where her name was called.

It was Nate. Of course it was Nate.

"Hmm?" She acknowledges with a hum. She pretends to focus on the whiteboard. It was filled. What? X to the sixth power over Y to the eighth? What does this have to do with her? She scribbles away furiously on her notebook, perhaps she'll ask Twin when she sees him. Or—no, she should ask May. Usually, January wouldn't bother paying attention to exponents and polynomials and imagin-fucking-nary numbers, but she's barely holding on with a passing grade, and she _needs_ a passing grade to stay on the squad.

And she _needs_ to stay on the squad because Peter was coming to the game Friday.

Nate tugs on the hem of her flirty leopard print dress. It was sky blue and January thought that it was destiny pounding on her front door when Peter stepped into Jude's car this morning wearing a crisp baby blue button-down. They matched, she had pointed it out to him. He _tries_ to play it off casually, of course, smiling and shrugging with a polite, "I guess we do." But she knew better. She knew he was just as excited as she was. He was just better at hiding it.

"Do you know what's going on with Jude? He skipped the last two practices. I didn't tell Coach anything, but he's gonna notice if his star Running Back is missing during the game."

January waves Nate's concerns away with a bat of her hand, squinting hard at the equation on the board. There were a lot of Xs and Ys and Zs. She doesn't exactly know what to do with them. "He met a girl somewhere...been hanging around her a lot." She bites her lower lip. _What is this, exponents can have fractions?_ "I wouldn't worry 'bout it though. I think they broke up a few days ago."

"How do you know?" Nate fits the definition of All-American boy by every standard. He was the Quarterback of the local high school, his golden hair is always shining like a halo, and his skin is bronze from hours out in the sun. His eyes are sparkling green, and they had managed to dazzle and captivate her for a few short weeks before she decided—once again, that Pretty Peter Plaything is going to be...worth the wait.

"Because it's _Jude_," She retorts, a little irritated that he wasn't going to let her concentrate on completing the goddamn squares. "He's chasing after a new skirt every week. You know how it goes."

Mrs. Johnston is asking for the class to pair up. She's babbling some nonsense that Jan didn't understand about coefficients and quadratics and slopes and Jan just wants to rip her hair out.

Nate scoots his desk next to hers instinctively as she brushes the scattered pieces of notes aside absently to make more room. "I like your hair." He whispers slyly.

January pushes a hand through her long hair, and grinned. The scarlet ribbons thread into her half-updo is hanging girlishly between her shoulder blades. She tangles her fingers through it for a moment and muses, "Yeah?" Then the words bubble out of her happily, "Peter gave them to me."

Pretty Peter Plaything is sitting near the front of the classroom and chatting easily with his partner, a shorter guy wearing glasses and a marching band T-shirt. He's writing down equations and reducing exponents skillfully, and he would flash that silly lopsided grin of his when he realized that he made a mistake every once in a while.

"When are you and Petrelli going to get together?" Nate raises a sandy brow, "Really. I mean, I really doubt he's that oblivious. You've been pining after him for a whole decade now."

_Has it really been that long? _Jan stares at him incredulously. She was kind of embarrassed, because it seems that everyone knew of her hopeless crush. She was kind of angry too. Nate was right. How could Peter not tell? She's pretty sure that she's dropped a fuck-load of hints throughout the course of ten years. Or did he just _choose_ to ignore her?

"How do you know I like him?" She questions stiffly, trying to appear indifferent.

Nate laughs, "You haven't worn pants ever since the Truth and Dare game two years ago when Petrelli admitted that he thought you were leggy." Nate's emerald eyes gleamed as he smirked, "Since then, it's been miniskirts and tiny dresses. Don't think I didn't notice. Not that I'm complaining, of course. After all, you do got amazing legs."

Just then, as if he heard his name, Peter peers up at her from his worktable. His boyish hair is falling in front of his dark eyes, they were deep and burning and fervent. Copper, interrupted by flecks of green. Poetic, almost. But when he catches her dove gray gaze, he jerks his head away, turning abruptly to his partner, his neck hot with a fiery blush.

"Do you think he likes me?" It was a childish thing to ask. And it wasn't like she was 6. But she couldn't help herself. She had smiled; she had flirted; she had worn skirts in the dead of winter! What else does he expect her to do?

Nate smiles without humor, "How could he not?"

* * *

She shows up at Pretty Peter Plaything's locker with her trademark grin, impish and charming, after class. His locker door isn't decorated like hers. It has a little dry-erase board and a little calendar but that's it.

She almost pouts. He can be so terribly dull at times. But it's all right, when he finally comes to his senses and starts being a brave little bear and ask her out, she'll spruce it up for him.

Taking her bottom lip in with her teeth, she beams, "Hey, Peter."

He seems pleasantly surprised, his brows shot up, but his lip pulled crookedly. He prods the too-long locks behind his ear. "Jan." He greets, his voice husky and breathless. His cheeks are rosy again, he tries to hide it by digging into his messenger bag. "I—I um, I'm," He chuckles weakly, "I'm glad to see you with the ribbons. I didn't think you would wear them."

"Hmm..." January almost purrs, running her hand up his arm, where the sleeve of his shirt is pushed up to his elbow, as he exchanged books from his locker. His skin is hot and smooth, with the subtle curves of muscles. The vein by his temple pulsed. "Why not?" She inquires, she touches her hair self-consciously.

He shrugs, "I didn't think you really liked them." He confesses. It was endearing, how uncertain he was. It made her heart skip beats and her throat to tighten.

_She doesn't just like them_, she wants to say. _She likes him_.

But in the end, she offers simply, "I love them."

Pretty Peter chuckles. It's the sweetest sound she's ever heard. "I'm glad you did." He jams his Math books into the locker shelf. She watched, happily mesmerized, by his slow, cautious motions. He'd check over the homework for his next class meticulously before embossing it with his name. He reads a little Post-It note stuck onto his hung jacket, 'borrowed ur eng lit note. ~Jude'. When he notices that she's still leaning dazedly against his locker, much like some fangirl, he adds gently, "You look good, Jan."

She perks up like a sunflower. Straightening, she slides a bit closer, her back against the cool steel wall, her head tilted against his open door, and she stretches a leg casually, so that their knees touched. She flashes him her most tempting, sultry smile.

He doesn't take the bait, respectfully taking a step away from her. Her stomach dropped and hissed in disappointment. His puppy eyes are sad and pained again. And it bugs her. It bugs her that even when she hands him those little opportunities she knows he's trying hard to resist, he never looks the slightest bit glad to see her.

So, frustrated and antagonized, she hooks her pale fingers around his ear and tugs; giving him a little jolt, for being such a sad little plaything. And he shakes his head, gasping for breath she's quite proud she took.

He says it hurts.

This makes her beam, and yes, she knows she does it far too much when she's around him. But she doesn't fully care if people around here start to talk. She knows it's bound to happen. Because Peter's so very good at making her happy.

"You'll get used to it," She tells him coolly, even though her insides are swarmed with hornets. She sends him a sly look, "Then you'll start to like it." She chimes, in a voice that sounded oddly like a promise.

And when he does, she'll be the happiest 16 year-old in the world.

She walks down the hall with a leap in her step and a flutter in her heart.

* * *

**End Note:**

**Our little January was quite the little vixen in high school, isn't she? But this story is a companion fic to 'The Man With Few Words' and it explores the depths and past of January in greater detail. I'm pretty proud of this piece mostly because it veers SLIGHTLY off the topic of fanfiction and goes more out on the limb of original fiction. **

**But I'd like to dedicate this chapter to a fellow fanfiction writer named 'Lint' who wrote one of my favorite stories 'The Hint of a Spark' and inspired me to kind of give January this very childish and immature mindset. Janie right now is a very, very typical high school girl but she always makes me smile when I write about her so I hope she makes you smile when you read about her, especially if you're having a bad day. **

**Thank you all for giving this story a chance! And feedbacks are always MUCHO appreciated.**

**Question of the day: What do you think about January's narrations so far? And Pretty Peter Plaything?**

**--Loves, Kitty.**


	2. Summer Hil Jansen

**The Biography of January Jansen**

"_It takes a long time to become young." –Pablo Picasso_

* * *

_Chapter Two_

Fate.

We all imagine ourselves to be agents of our destiny; capable of determining our own fate with the decisions we make. We are taught that we are all unique individuals. Different and _special_. But what are the chances of that? Perhaps someone out there is facing the exact same set of problems you have, and metaphorically—sharing your shoes. We like to think there's something inside of us that make us extraordinary and that we make our own life. We pave our own path and brand our footsteps into history.

But who are we to play God?

Do we truly have any choice in when we rise? Or when we fall? Or does a force larger than ourselves lead us? Do we fall in love with someone because we choose to? Or is it fate stepping in and telling us this is whom we need to be with? Do we love without inhibition? Should we? Maybe you love someone because you are meant to. Or maybe it's science that points our way, giving us a feeling that this person will provide you completeness.

Or is it God who intervenes, choosing our love, keeping us safe?

* * *

January Jansen hated leading grace. It was such a monumentally awkward thing for her to do and she had not a clue how to do it properly. So she often finds herself stumbling through the mandatory thanks while daddy prompted her on and April snickered from the opposite seat.

"Lord, bless the food and drink for which we are about the receive. Um," She peeked open one gray eye to find Jude looking back at her with a sly, knowing smirk. Daddy and mama have their heads bowed low in prayer so she continues clumsily, "I-uh, thank the Lord for my family and for, the..." April is shifting impatiently and it was distracting her. She clears her throat nervously, "May every meal be as bountiful as this one. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen." She hastens to finish.

The clattering of silverware against china is welcomed by January as she cut eagerly into her chicken and swirled it in gravy. Twin is inhaling everything in sight and mama is scolding him about his shaggy hair, which he responds by giving her a sloppy smile filled with specks of olives. All was going well until she got into her second helping of mashed potatoes and daddy rolled back his shoulders, setting his steely gaze tight on her.

"Jan," He addresses casually. And her spine went rigid. Whenever daddy spoke like this, it usually resulted in grounding. Of course, Jude will try to help and wiggle her out of her punishment, but that usually ends with both of them being confined to their room. "Your grades came in today."

_Fuck_. January doesn't typically swear much but really, just _fuck_.

She twirls her fork and chew on her lower lip. Shrinking lower into the chair, she asks tentatively, "And? Were they not satisfactory?" Oh God. She fucking _knew_ they were not satisfactory. Technically though, she would like to protest that it was not entirely her fault, and that the stupid counselors sticking Pretty Peter Plaything in almost every one of her classes were out to get her because it was very, _very_ distracting.

She _tried_ to focus, she really did! But just exactly what was she expected to pay attention to? _Hamlet_ or Pretty Peter? Or Pretty Peter reenacting _Hamlet_? She thinks it's the latter. Even when her sad little Plaything stood in the front of the classroom and recited, "Fragility! Thy name is woman," all she was capable of comprehending was his cute floppy hair and breathless voice.

Oh yes. She _definitely_ learned a lot that day.

"If you found them to be satisfactory, January, then we'll truly have a problem." Daddy answers coldly, his disapproving glare burning a hole through the side of her head. She squirms uneasily. Daddy scolds, "Always running around and playing, your head up in the clouds. That is not how you get into college." Blah, blah, blah. January rolled her eyes skyward. "Spend all your time smiling and flirting with that _boy_ with the long hair. What's his name? _Percy_?"

April Jansen raises a sharp brow, "Maybe if you were smart, Jan, you'd stop seeing him." On that note, she tosses her long blonde hair behind her shoulder and took a dainty swallow of her soup.

She had no idea how April was related to her. Even when she was little, she used to pray for somebody to come and tell her that April was not her real sister and take her away to Jupiter or Vulcan or whatever Galaxy that was far, far away. April. _Gorgeous_ April with her sunkissed hair and bright smile. She used to imagine what it feels like to shave her bald.

There were many things January wanted to say, although none of them appropriate for the ears of her parents, so she heatedly rants, stumbling along the way, "Who are you to talk, Miss oh-yeah-daddy-I'm-going-to-the-library-wearing-this-big-ole-raincoat-because-I'm-not-hiding-anything-_at-all_-beneath-it!" April's face paled and January almost smiled with satisfaction. "What, afraid that you're gonna get raped in the library?!"

"Shut up, January!" April's long legs—a family trait, she thinks, found hers under the table and kicked _hard_. If she bruises, she was going to strangle _Gorgeous_ April. "Don't think I didn't see you throwing yourself all over Jude's little buddy the other day."

During this point, Twin cuts in, "Hey. Let's not bring my buddy into this, all right?" He casts her an annoyed stare, his fingers tightening on his fork, "And don't talk to my sister that way."

"I _am_ your sister, Jude!" April sounds exasperated, "Tell me, honest to God, that you didn't see her basically stripping herself in front of your friend. I mean, Jan," She chuckles disdainfully, "Really. At least the boy's got some honor, having practically _peeled_ you off him."

She flushed and stood, nearly knocking over her chair. She knows that Jude's hand is at her arm, tugging her back, and she tries to shrug it off. "You're just bitter because you spent all those fucking years trying to seduce him and Peter didn't give you a second look!"

"That's bullshit, January Jansen, and you know it!" April denies hotly, although her cheeks were crimson and from the looks of it, she had struck a sore spot. Well_...good_!_"_Don't blame it on me when you're the one shamelessly _whoring_ yourself out to him!"

"April!" Jude roars; not so much as an angry bellow than a frustrated snarl. He didn't like taking sides, and she was forcing him to. And they both know which one he'll pick. "Goddamn it, April!" In the back of Jan's mind, she can hear daddy trying to gain control of the situation. 'No cursing at the dinner table' he reprimands. But daddy was ignored as the only son in the family runs a hand through his golden hair, yanking a few strands out when his fingers plowed through way too fast. "You push too far," He hisses, "And you forget your place, _sis_."

If January Jansen was in any mood for humor, she'd almost say that this seems like some medieval soap opera. She can imagine the Boleyns having this conversation about King Henry.

Gorgeous April frowns at Heroic Jude. She narrows her gunmetal eyes, "Speaking of places, you'll do well to remember that you are the youngest. And you have no right to interfere."

Angry Jan tries to lunge across the table. And it's mama who steps in.

"_That's enough_!" Summer Hil-Jansen snaps, her knife smashed onto the wooden table with a deafening crack. Mama was not someone you wanted to make mad. Although daddy addressed all matters, it was mama that held the whip and it was mama that made sure if you were grounded; you _stay_ grounded. Mama did the spanking. And she left marks.

"I have half a mind to ground all three of ya'll." Daddy rubs his eyes tiredly, dinner forgotten and arms folded in front of him.

"You can't!" January widened her dove gray eyes. "Daddy! The first game of the season's tonight! I have to be there! You have to let me go!" She didn't care that she was whining. Oh, she had promised Pretty Peter. And he was coming to see her! What was he to do if she weren't there?

Daddy scowls and announces, "I don't _have_ to do anything. And the only thing _you_ _have_ to do is get your grades up, missy!" He makes a face, "And I don't like the sound of this _Percy_ character." January scowls right back and resists the urge to tell him that he's known Peter for 10 years now.

Jan can feel her entire face distort indignantly, and she bit her tongue as she chewed her green beans with just a touch too much vigor. How dare he! How dare he, how dare he! She would not be ordered around like some toy soldier. She _loves_ Pretty Peter and he would not stop her from grinning and charming him!

"_Peter_," She corrects daddy with an edge of hysteria, "His name is Peter!" Oh, she knew he was just doing it on purpose and it aggravated her.

Daddy sighs tiredly, "Peter." He repeats after her dutifully. "Jan, you will have plenty of time to go on dates and do all those things girls love so much once you're _in_ college, when you're more mature and responsible..." January wanted to die.

Jude saves her, "Ugh, please dad. Not another bees and flowers talk." Yes, they have had many of _those_ over the years. Jan and Jude, being the youngest, have heard it a thousand times since their oldest sister, June turned 13. "Especially not at the dinner table."

"...and you know what happens when girls start dating too soon?" Daddy's speaking louder now and Jan's face feels like it's on fire. He inclines forward, "You know what happens?"

Jan spits the words out as to avoid any more embarrassment, "They get their hearts broken." _She knows, she knows._

"Yes." Daddy looks mildly satisfied with her response. "That and they get pregnant." He spends the next few moments chewing and thinking over his Parmesan chicken. "But we're going to have to do something about this Pre-Calc situation, Jan. Maybe you can start going to those tutorials they have after school?"

January gagged. She would rather do bleacher runs with the football team than spend her free time with Mrs. Johnston. She couldn't learn in that class. What makes daddy think that she'll be able to learn when everybody else she knows is out having fun?

Jude perks up from next to her, flashing daddy a wide dazzling beam, and reassures sweetly, "Peter will tutor her."

* * *

"I wish you wouldn't antagonize your sister like that." Mama murmurs, a sly smile pulling at her lips. Her fingers are woven into January's onyx tress, expertly lacing the strands together into a neat French braid, threading that lovely red ribbon through her inky locks. She keeps a steady rhythm, plaiting and lightly tugging.

"I wish April wouldn't antagonize _me_ like that." She retorts, pulling the long-sleeve of her scarlet uniform over her knuckles. Nervously, she worries her lip between her teeth and she tugs on the hem of the too-short skirt. Everybody buys their skirts a size too small but January thinks that hers shrunk in the wash.

Mama tilts her head, concentrating on Jan's hair, but she tells her, "I haven't seen you get that angry in a long time, January." She peers at her daughter's reflection in the vanity mirror. Her daughter, whose dark brows are drawn together and red lips twisted into a frown. "Peter must be very important to you."

"He is," She assures in a crisp chime. And she can't help but beam. She was going to be seeing Pretty Peter tonight. Pretty Peter had promised to look for her. Pretty Peter with his tousled hair and poetic eyes. Such a beautiful Plaything. Oh, she would do anything for him.

Mama finishes up with a cute bow at the end of her hair and smoothes her hand over the top of her head. "You be nice to him," She warns, "That Peter is such a sweet boy." Peter used to take piano and cello lessons with mama when he was younger. She misses having him around the house. Nowadays, he only comes over to play with Jude. And it makes her sad.

"I'm always nice to Peter." She responds confidently.

Mama corrects her, "You're nice to Peter _now_." Mama gives her a pointed look that seems to pierce straight through her skull. January blinks, bewildered by the warning. "Don't give me that look, Jan. I know you. Hm, you're nice to him now when he's some shiny teddy bear you can't have. But once you have him, you'll grow bored and—"

"I won't, I won't!" She defends; both her and Peter. "Peter is different. He's special to me. He's the one. He's the one for me. The _only_ one, mama." She loves him, she just knows it. And she knows, deep down inside, he feels the same way. He just doesn't want to give in to her because she's all smiles and touches. But January knows that he's the only boy she wants in the whole wide world.

And so she thrust her socked feet into pearly white tennis shoes and grab her pom-poms. She flails them around and whirls down the stairs in a blur of jet-black hair and scarlet glitter, where daddy proceeds to fuss over her. _Yes daddy, they're suppose to be that short. Yes, __everyone's__ is like that. Mm-hmm, mama did it. __Yes__, that is suppose to be showing._

Jude grabs both of their duffle bags and slings them over his shoulder before trekking out the front door, calling back unceremoniously, "Bye ma. Bye pops. Game's at 8. Don't forget and don't be late!" And he swings over the driver's seat of the older than old convertible Mustang.

January hesitates at the door. She asks mama, "Do you think he'll like me?" Mama seems perplexed so she clarifies in a conspired whisper, "Peter."

Summer Hil-Jansen has raised four girls in her lifetime. But it was her youngest daughter, elfin January with girlishly long hair that she can never bring herself to cut, and expressive silver eyes that won her heart. She was so childish and beautiful and so incredibly typical—youthful, shining, and _perfect_. So she just smiles a knowing smile and presses a tender kiss to her forehead.

She doesn't tell January that she _knows_ Peter Petrelli is madly in love with her. And she doesn't tell January about the letters she saw on the ends of the ribbon. _P _on the right, then _J_ on the left. So that when she wounds them together; they're joined in a never-ending loop.

* * *

The Riverside High School cheerleaders are doing warm-up stretches on the football field. The players themselves are all in lock-up, kept inside the locker room by the coaches and giving each other pep talks. The sun is high in the sky and it's warm; spilling over the green grass and asphalt track.

January Jansen is helping Emma Lee with her tumbling, watching as her friend raised herself onto her hands and giggled as her joints all popped. Emma, face red from the sustained handstand, is complaining about how the boy she liked, Lacrosse Jimmy Carter, still hasn't asked her out to the Homecoming dance yet. Then she smiles, her smile looking like some deranged frown from Jan's position, "But you know, I heard a rumor that Nate Winston is going to ask you."

January blinks. Nate? Football Nate? Emma gives her a pointed look, finally landing back onto her feet and raises a brow, as if waiting for some kind of response. January blinks some more. Should she squeal? What was the expected reaction? She blurts, "But I always go with Jude."

Emma brushes that comment away like a piece of lint on her uniform, "And now you can have Nate."

Jan wrinkled her nose involuntarily. It wasn't that she didn't like Football Nate. Because she did. He was very nice to her and his blonde hair is always parted just right and his eyes are really really green and—he was a senior, for God's sake! But...it just didn't feel right to her. So she tries to laugh it off and escaped Emma's incriminating stare with a tight cartwheel.

She rights herself to the most wonderful sight. Pretty Peter Plaything sitting in the bleachers. And she excuses herself and runs up the columns to greet him.

Her legs pumped and she had to dodge two teachers and a kissing couple to get to him. And when she finally does, she's a little breathless, and she's pretty sure that her carefully orchestrated French braid is in shambles. "Peter!" She beams nevertheless.

He was talking to some guy in thick specs but he shoots up from his seat when he sees her. His dark hair is so boyishly cute and neater than usual and...oh, how he took her breath away. "Jan." He flashes her that lopsided grin he seems to have saved just for her. He's wearing the school t-shirt and he's got a red bear-paw painted on his left cheek for spirit.

January Jansen, her heart thundering, jogs in front of him and demurely clasps her hands behind her back. Her mouth is curving on their own accord and she plays coy, "Did you miss me?"

He raises a prim brow. "Since I saw you this afternoon in English?" She couldn't contain her beam and she couldn't contain her touches and she fidgets with the round collar of his _Bears are Beasts_ shirt. His creamy skin, smooth and hot, blazed against her fingertips. She smiles wider, and nods.

Then she tugs him over to the railings overlooking the football field and twists all her fingers together. "So," She glances at him shyly through her lashes, watching with mild amusement as Pretty Peter's throat bobbed. "I don't know if you know this but...I'm not doing so hot in Math right now." She doesn't tell him that the reason is because he was so goddamn pretty all the time. "And daddy says that I need to find myself a tutor or else he's not going to let me cheer anymore."

She tries to look sad, jutting her lips into a pitiful pout for emphasis. But the truth was, she's giddy with joy due to his close proximity. Her Plaything was so close. So very close that she can see that he has not a single blemish on his handsome face. So close that she can count all the green in his cocoa eyes. So close that every inhale she took consisted of his naturally woodsy scent and the freshness of his aftershave. She'll admit, she was getting a little light-headed.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Pretty Peter shifts from one foot to the other. She was looking at him, waiting. He furrows his brow, not quite sure what to say, and asks, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

He thinks it was the right question to ask because her pretty face broke into an even prettier grin and she loops her arm around his neck, "Yes. As a matter of fact, there is. You can tutor me." She tilts her head and runs her hand through his hair. She didn't like it like that. All nice and combed. He's got such dark, thick hair. Why would he style it like that? She twirls that funny piece of bang with her finger.

"Tutor you?" He squirms, but he doesn't go as far as to actually trying to disentangle himself from her, and the thought makes her smile. He isn't sure so he stares at the ground, then the sky, and at everything but her. She found him so endearing, how he's trying _so _hard to resist her advances. She wounds her long fingers around his pretty ears. His breath hitched. Then, "I-I'd—I'd love to."

And she laughs and hugs him and beams. He was so very good at making her happy.

Her back is pressed against the railings and she tugs him just a tad closer, so that their chests touched. And she runs her hands down his arm and intertwines their fingers together. He shudders. She purrs. He was so deliciously warm, it made her delirious.

"You'll do it, then?" She notices his gaze is buried in her long hair, trained on the ribbons woven there.

He doesn't say anything, just nods in agreement. His lip fell open crookedly and he blushed viciously, but he's trying hard to suppress it by pulling his brows together and shaking his head to clear his foggy head.

She finds herself wishing he would kiss her. Even if just once. Because her heart aches every time she gives him the chance and he just won't take it. She wonders what it's like; being kissed by Pretty Peter Plaything. She imagines it to be wondrous and delightful and magical. She imagines what it's like to finally get her hands on that velveteen bear.

Such a tragically beautiful Plaything.

Someone is calling January Jansen, hollering that the game is about to start and that she needed to do her laps. And so she reluctantly separates herself from Peter. Peter with his now-tousled hair and long lashes. Peter with his enchanting, lingering gaze.

She sprints down the steps once more, ignoring the jests and talk already beginning. She sees people whooping and making cat-calls at Pretty Peter, who simply said nothing and blushed fiercely. And they teased and pestered him about snagging a cheerleader. She sees his buddy thumping him in the back, and she sees that soft, endearing smile of his make its way in her direction as she glanced back.

And she grins to herself. And she wishes that he would fall hopeless in love with her. Because she was already in too deep.

* * *

**End Note:**

**Thanks to those who read and reviewed for the last two chapters and I thank you once more for reading THIS chapter. The plot is really starting to pick up and it's just so great to see those of you who are on board. **

**Question of the day: What's your favorite line? What do you think about January's way of narration as opposed to Jacob's in MWFW?**

**Feedback is always appreciated. Love you!**


	3. Football Nate

**The Biography of January Jansen**

"_When a young man complains that a young woman has no heart, it's pretty certain that she has his." –George Dennison Prentice_

* * *

_Chapter Three_

Hide.

Everybody hides. From the truth, the lies. From their enemies, their families. From themselves.

But the Earth is large, and it houses almost seven billion people. It's easy to get lost in a world that big. It's easy to blend in with the crowd and cease to exist, if only you wish it. The Earth is large. Large enough that you think you can hide from anything.

From Fate. From God. From Love.

If only you found a place far enough away. You can curl yourself into the space between people and turn your back on reality. So you run. To the edge of the Earth. You run and you don't look back, afraid that it you do, they'll find you as they see you. You run to where it's all safe again. Quiet, and warm. The solace of fresh air. The peace of danger left behind. The luxury of freedom.

And maybe, for you moment, you believe you have escaped.

But you can run far. To the edge of the Earth. You can take your small precautions and never look back. But have you really gotten away? Can you ever escape? Or is it the truth that you did not have the strength or cunning to hide from destiny?

The world is not small. You are. And love can find you anywhere.

* * *

Football Nate did in fact ask out Elfin Jan to the dance.

It happened as the game ended with the Bears victorious. It's standard tradition for Riverside that each player strips off their jersey to whomever they wished to be their partner to Homecoming. And it all happened so fast that January Jansen couldn't do as much as blink.

She supposes it started when the team won and everyone in the stands whooped and shouted and the cheerleaders in the sideline waved their pom-poms in the air. She's flushed with happiness at the win but mostly, it's from the joy of Peter accepting her request to be her tutor. The coach is yelling on the bullhorn, asking the sweaty players to offer their numbers to the lady of their choice. And of course, Twin is tugging off his uniform. They were both number 13. And they always went to Homecoming together. This year would be no different.

Or so January Jansen thought as she beamed and squealed and ran out into the field.

It was then that green-eyed Nate caught her by the elbow, and spun her around until she did a face plant into his chest. Her initial reaction is utter surprise and she gasps, the sound muffled against the cotton material of his undershirt. After the wild stun came disgust as she crinkled her nose and squirmed feebly. Because he _stunk_. Peter never smelled like this. Peter always smelled woodsy and deep and marvelously delicious.

What follows is sort of a blur.

Football Nate presented her with a neatly folded number 24 jersey. Heroic Jude paused in mid-stride and nearly fell over. Cheer-Captain Hilary chanted for her to say yes. Tumbler Emma Lee is chattering endlessly in her ear about Lacrosse Jimmy Carter asking her out. Pretty Peter Plaything, who was making his way towards her, flushed in outrage then paled with horror. Elfin Jan stood with her feet planted firmly on the ground and her jaw dropped.

She splutters, "I, uh-well...God, I'm flattered, Nate—this is, oh my..." She liked Football Nate. She really did. And she was never good with rejection so the obvious choice was to accept. But she wasn't into him like that. And she really doesn't want to go to the dance with him. She's waiting for Pretty Peter and Nate's annoying her because he's probably scaring Pretty Peter off and _God_—couldn't he wait until after Peter asked her so she'll have a legitimate reason to turn him down? "I don't know what to say."

"Say yes." Nate prompts her, his lips quirked into a charming smile. Her will almost faltered. Because his hair is golden yellow and his emerald eyes are so deep and _green_ that it's almost impossible to look at them directly. She's sure she can overlook the smell.

"I..." January is uncomfortable with all the staring. Finally, she admits, "I don't think it's such a great idea, Nate."

Heroic Jude, and how very heroic he is, slips in quietly next to her. "Twin and I always go together. It's Jansen tradition. Sorry." He apologizes, looking sincere, but the gray in his gaze is steely and the smile playing on the edges of his mouth is cutting.

Football Nate is ever so persistent that it made January want to slap him if only his suntanned skin isn't so velvety smooth. He pushes the scarlet jersey into her palm, curling her fingers around it for her, and smiles, "Think about it then. It's yours if you want it, Jan."

January Jansen nods. She doesn't tell him that all she wants is Peter.

* * *

Pretty Peter Plaything does want her, though he never quite says so.

When they meet for their Pre-Calculus tutoring the first time around, they're sitting in daddy's study room. There are a lot of chairs and sofas and pillows to make themselves comfortable but there was something acutely intimate about sitting on the floor with Pretty Peter. Because even though the mahogany wood beneath them stretched throughout the vicinity of the entire house, it still reminded Jan that they're sharing the same surface. And the thought of them sharing _anything_ makes January smile.

He's got textbooks cracked open and sheets of notes scattered everywhere. He keeps his dark brows furrowed even as he teaches her, he would gesture with the point of his pencil what he's talking about and work over equations with as much ease as Jan would have with the splits. His smooth husk is distracting and she can't seem to draw her attention away from that distracting lock of bang that's falling into his enchanting eyes. And when the lesson draws to an end, January concludes that she learned absolutely nothing at all.

She still doesn't get exponents. Or long division. Or quadratic slopes.

But she pretends to listen. She'd nod and frown and ask appropriate questions. Meanwhile, she'd attempt to get as close to him as possible. They started facing each other, a good respectable distance. Now, she's convinced him that her feet were cold and dug them deep into his lap, her legs folded up against his chest.

She knows _all_ about how he _pretends_ not to be distracted.

"—So then you switch the exponent from the numerator to the denominator in order to make it positive because you can't have negative exponents. But you don't switch the coefficient, that stays even if it is negative. And if, you see here, they're both Xs, then you can just add them together..."

She didn't have a clue what he was going on about but she sidles up next to him, whisper close, with a smile on her face that just won't go away in his presence. And when she grazes her fingertips along his hot, creamy skin and curiously brushes the pad of her thumb against the blue veins raised against his arm, stealing his breath every time, she knows she has him.

He would stop, often in the middle of a sentence, to clear his throat and regain his composure. Jan would wait, always, hoping that one of these pauses, he'll gather enough courage to ask for her to accompany him to Homecoming.

Oh, his attempts at hiding his emotions through forced indifference are obvious. He pretends not to care though she can always see right through it. Sometimes if she were lucky, she'll get permission to lace her hand into his boyishly mussed hair, trace the straight line of his noble nose, and tug on those pretty, pretty ears.

He reacts the same way every time.

How his cocoa eyes widen with the instinctual jerk backwards, and how the corner of his mouth dares to twitch just the slightest bit upward.

She's always gentle after he lets her. Always gives him a hug, or a lingering caress someplace she knows he'll respond to. Always bats her lashes and flirts and smiles, silently encouraging him to take that extra leap.

He never does. He always ends up stammering his way back onto the topic of Pre-Calc, flushes red, and that's when January Jansen knows playtime is over.

She pouts. He grins lopsidedly. She pretends to understand math. And that's that.

* * *

She's in the school library, recruiting study material for an upcoming Physics test. The book on the top shelf is her enemy at the moment, gloating and boasting as she raised herself onto her tiptoes and strained for it. Her fingers wiggled as she stretched but she grabbed nothing but air, eliciting a wildly frustrating huff from her.

A long, tanned arm comes up from behind her and takes the wretched book down from its glorious location. She whirls around, her brows set in a furrow, but a glimmering smile in place. She hooks her shaggy bangs behind her ear and chirps, "Thanks a lot."

Football Nate's sea-green eyes find hers as his lips stretched into a toothy beam, "No problem." He replies. She's nervous because he's standing so close to her but she goes to tug _Physics: Explained_ out of his hand. Casually, and not entirely accidentally, he skims his fingers over her wrist, still smiling.

January Jansen was so shocked, she dropped the book.

She fell onto the floor, fumbling with the strap of her duffel bag and her messenger bag and the goddamn book. God, she wishes she hadn't thought to come in here. She had been doing such a great job of avoiding Football Nate. Been doing such a good job of ignoring the simple _thought_ of him. She skipped cheer practice on Thursdays, when the football players would be running drills. She sat next to the boy with the marching band t-shirt that sat next to Peter in Math class. She wouldn't even attend the after-game party.

But here they are, two weeks later. And Nate Winston had finally found her.

"It's good to see you, Jan. You look nice." Nate's grin is honey sweet and his sandy hair flopped on his forehead the way a bashful puppy's would. He towered over her easily and January found it difficult to sneak her way around him.

So she tries a different tactic. She draws herself up to her full height—which isn't much. She beams extra bright—which felt strained and wobbly. And she says what she would normally say, "Hey. It's been busy these days. How have you been?" Which is _not_ something normal Jan would say because it sounded way too impersonal.

But Football Nate just seemed glad that she was talking to him. "It's been alright," He answers quietly. He tries that mesmerizing trick where he bores those piercing evergreen irises into her pale gray ones. "...It's not as great without you, though." He pushes a hand into the bookcase behind her, causing January to burst out into a round of hysterical, high-pitched giggles. "I've missed you."

She can't stop laughing. The smile on her lips is frozen, her muscles all locked, and she can't move either because she's pinned there by his stupid, glittering eyes. "Yeah. It's, um...that's—oh, I'm sure you'll _live_." She waves it away with a swat of her hand.

Why the hell did she ever come into the library? What was she _thinking_?

"Well..." Nate twirled a piece of her inky hair. "I wouldn't be so sure." He muses, his silky voice low and raspy. Nate was so close. He smelled like the golf course and deodorant. He smells like the track and the sky. Her breath is caught in her throat, making it hard to swallow. She shrinks back, shaking her head. She needed to focus. She was here for Pretty Peter—no wait, shit, she means Physics. Yeah. She needed to stick to that. Damn it! She _loves_ Pretty Peter and she would not screw him over for some pretty boy with golden hair and aqua eyes and bronze skin...and what was her point?

Right. Pretty Peter Plaything. Yes. He was her top priority. Yes. That's right. She's almost got him. Yes. She's so close to having him. And Football Nate is just being an annoying distraction with his gorgeous grin and dazzling charm. She would not be tempted! She won't, she won't!

Peter was the only boy for her. Yes, sir! And January Jansen would not be distracted. Not this time!

"They opened up a new ice cream store in the mall. Jimmy says that they have 68 flavors." He shrugs happily and shoves his hands into his pockets. "I was wondering if you'd like to check it out with me."

Shit. Really, just _shit_. January Jansen thinks that this simply _must_ be some kind of obstacle that God sent down here to test her devotion to Pretty Peter. Why else would somebody throw a beautiful, tanned 6'2 _senior_ with the invitation for _68 flavors of ice cream_ right there in front of her nose? She's convinced that the Lord is testing her will.

But January Jansen is strong. She will not fall for it. "Oh yeah! Sure!" No, wait. What's going on? "I'd love to." Dear God, she could not control yourself. January Jansen is weak. She was a teenage girl! What was she to do?

In the end, she conceded that it was all Pretty Peter's fault. Because if he had been a brave little bear and did what he was supposed to—which, is ask her out and snog her senselessly, then they wouldn't be in this predicament. Yes. He was to blame. And of course, those damn green eyes.

* * *

One day, she slinks up next to him, and he's got that look on his face like he's been expecting her—of course, it was their Pre-Calc lesson, and she's all smiles until he becomes Mr. Sourpuss and says he's 'not in the mood today'. She notices then, with a crestfallen frown, that he's not sitting on the floor, but instead stiffly on the couch nearby the window. _She's_ on the floor though, right by his leg and with the light flooding through the window and her looking up at him, it looks as if his entire lean frame is surrounded by gold.

"Oh." She tries really hard not to feel hurt. She tells herself that Pretty Peter was just having a bad day and it had nothing to do with her. "What's wrong?" She inquires with wide, owl-gray eyes.

Pretty Peter seemed annoyed. He moves to the end of the sofa, further away from her, his brows drawn together into a scowl that didn't suit the fine, eloquent lines of his handsome face. He lets that stubborn piece of dark hair conceal the storming emotions in his copper eyes. He dismisses the matter by flipping through his textbook, "Nothing." He bites out, "I just don't feel very well."

January blinks. "What's wrong?" She repeats.

She curls up on the couch, folding her spidery legs beneath her. Deep down, she's a little irritated too, because she's been waiting for the past three weeks for him to ask her out to Homecoming and he won't. She's also irritated because he's too absorbed in his own self-pity to even notice the brand new skirt she's sporting. At any other time, she would've locked their fingers together and pretended to be mad at him, but it wasn't like Peter to be upset. He was so soft-spoken and full of innocence that she didn't think it was even possible.

Peter's bitterness fell off when he turned to look at her and she could see that she was the source of all the antagonizing. His poetic gaze is staring at her with such pain that it made her flinch. "You're going out with Nate Winston." His words were accusing but his tone so silkily hurt that she can't help but feel..._guilty_. His husky voice is delicate and muted, "Why did you do it?" His puppy-dog eyes are miserable and strained.

The protest flew out of her mouth, "I'm not going out with him." She shrugs, appearing nonchalant although she was feeling extremely uncomfortable, "I'm just humoring him. It doesn't mean anything."

"Sure didn't look that way in the library." He was still speaking quietly, but there was something angry and fierce and intense in his retort that January didn't understand. Peter was never like this. Peter was always so caring and gentle. Her pride was stung.

And January Jansen gets angry. This was none of his business. She'll date—_or not date_, whoever she wants! She doesn't need to beg at his feet like some pathetic fan girl. She's waited for him; done all she could to get him to notice her, but it's just not her fault that he refuses to take any of her hints. January feels like crying. Damn it, she wore her new skirt for him!

She forces herself to remain calm. She was a cheerleader, and she would not be easily defeated. This was Pretty Peter. She had known it was going to be difficult, she had known that he wasn't like the others and she can't just smile and flirt her way into his heart. Jan's upset, but she tries not to let it show. She sucks it up, tosses her glossy hair behind her shoulder, then quirks a cunning grin.

His chestnut irises went hazy.

She shifts as close to him as he'll allow, their shoulders pressed together. She reaches out to brush away that girly bang that's hanging in front of his face but as soon as her fingers grazed his hot, pale skin, he recoils back as if she had burned him. He shakes his head adamantly, gasping, "Don't do this to me, Jan."

January snatches her arm back, hand curled by her jaw in surprise. _Did he turn into a girl all of a sudden? _She wonders. Since when is a nice young man unwilling to accept the affections of a girl such as herself? He stares at the floor and doesn't flush or respond to her as he usually does, and she does _not_ like where today's meeting is going.

"Just a little one." She says, the hope inside perking up when he peers at her through his long dark lashes. Then she throws out the pretty please with a cherry on top by beaming. The edge of her mouth is taut with distress. She was sure she would cry if he rejected her. "Just a little jolt."

He's hesitant. He nods once. It's not the reaction she wants, but when he says 'fine', all the hairs stand on her neck and she grins at him, hoping it'll be infectious. It isn't. But he scoots closer, his side pressed shamelessly against hers. She was delirious with his warmth and scent. He averts his eyes, staring at her knee instead, pushing back his mussed exquisite hair and grants her access to his perfect, perfect ear.

It's a strange feeling thinking this is what she lives for now. That the few precious moments she spends with him have become the highlight of her life. Her beam too bright and wide, she lifts her hand, inclining closer. The anticipation in her silvery eyes telling him, 'I know you want this. I know it's all you think about'.

And when her long, thin fingers hook around his ear, he shudders. He becomes frozen, and she can hear his breath being caught in his throat. And she can feel the hum and beats of his heart thudding against his chest. Then she nuzzles her nose against his smooth cheek. The shell of his ear is soft and frailly curved.

She yanks down on it. _Hard_.

She wishes he can feel how hurt she is. How hurt he made her. She wishes he can feel her frustration and her desperation. And when he yelps, shirking away, she's worried that she's hurt him. But then he runs the back of his hand against his jaw, the place her nose occupied moments ago, and he blushes that lovely magenta. He's shaking his head to clear his head, his messily boyish hair flopping around uselessly. Then when his mouth fell open crookedly, the giddiness bubbles up inside her. She throws her arms around him, nothing but smiles and sunshine.

He's talking again. Reverting back to Pre-Calc, back to exponents and long divisions and imagine-fucking-nary numbers; but that telltale warm red glow still staining his ghostly skin.

_Come now, Pretty Peter_, she thinks. It's not completely one-sided, is it? It's not just her getting her kicks from their little trysts. It bothers her that he's so easily dismissing of what they share.

Hopping off the couch, she tells him that, "I like it better when you just sit there." When he accepts that he enjoys what happens between them. When he admits to himself that he needs it just as much as she does.

He's still miffed about the Football Nate incident although he doesn't bring it up again. He just ducks down to the book. "I'm here to tutor you, Jan. Your father trusts me." He sighs, sounding tired.

She heads for the door, planning to glide down to the kitchen and get him a drink and maybe ask Twin why her sad Plaything is being so demeaning and cold today. _He is not being so nice today._ And that's placed this irking feeling inside her pretty little head.

She turns around and crosses a line. Just so she'll get a reaction. Because anything will be better than this ugly square one they're remaining on. She whirls on her heel, the black sequined miniskirt flaring around her thigh, her blue-striped-white button down tucked it neatly as she runs her hand over the stiff collar.

She informs him coolly, because clever little boy knows how to push buttons, "I'm going to Homecoming with Nate."

All because he got pissed off that all she ever wants to do is play.

She walks away before he can reply. Because anything he says will be nothing but anguish and that's the last thing she wants from him. So she just smiles, "See ya later," calls him alligator, and heads out the door. Her heart's aching but having him watch her as she descends down the stairs is a thrill that makes it all seem worthwhile.

* * *

**End Note:**

**January is feisty, isn't she? Thank you for all of ya'll that's reading my story and for supporting Jan and Peter, they're really quite an enchanting couple. **

**Question of the day: How would you describe the odd, ecentric relationship between Peter and Jan? What do you think Peter's rejection of Jan so far?**

**Thanks for sticking by me, you guys are awesome. I love you all!**


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